


Relax

by slothinsocks



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love, Protectiveness, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothinsocks/pseuds/slothinsocks
Summary: After a series of unfortunate events, the Mandalorian is left frustrated. Luckily, Jola is there to help him relax.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86





	Relax

**Author's Note:**

> More Jando content for you all! ^-^ I plan on making much more with the season’s progression. Expect a backstory oneshot soon! Enjoy!

————

Sprawled out across the small, confined cabin’s bed, Jola was mostly asleep, laying on her stomach. One arm dangled freely from the ledge, and one leg was partially off of the edge. She was minimally dressed, unsurprisingly, draped in a tunic and her undergarments. If the situation wasn’t immediate, Jola didn’t wear pants — she always noted how tight and uncomfortable they were.

A grey sheet was pulled halfway over her body, somewhat twisted and tangled with her disarray during slumber. The child was next to her, curled up into the crook of her arm, little hands latched onto the sleeve of her tunic. They often slept together for the sheer fact that the little one enjoyed her presence — even her snoring. Jola wasn’t aware that it happened, either.

Her dreams were often filled with distant memories of her life on Mirial, a wide-eyed child who had displayed Force sensitivity at a young age. Untrained and unchecked, before and after the passing of her family, she took to the stars — somewhere else in the galaxy to try and find her place. 

Yet they also contained vivid visions of the Mandalorian. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Jola to dream of him so fondly, and perhaps her mind had wandered off into more vulgar places. He was not only a protector, but something more. Neither of them would vocalize what their relationship had become, but they knew. It was unspoken.

Groaning softly, she adjusted her position a little bit, and as she did so, the child snuggled closer into her shoulder. It was the dead of night — they were heading towards a new planet to lay low for what seemed like the millionth time. After Tatooine, things were really beginning to pose a threat. People were becoming smarter, and it was likely that they were being tracked. Jola wished that they could’ve stayed on Sorgan, but it wasn’t possible anymore. 

She was upset with Mando for ditching her to go chase after a dangerous mercenary without her. He decided to trust that rookie bounty hunter — his first mistake. Jola’s frustration carrier on in her sleep, her expression contorted into concentration, brows furrowed tightly together. 

Sighing, her eyes fluttered briefly before closing once more. Her fingers curled into the sheets, tugging them toward her frame. This was one of the only nights where she’d gotten more than a few hours of rest. She needed it — her energy was beginning to run out, or so it felt like. 

Just before she could reach the realm of deep sleep, the ship jolted violently, waking her up almost immediately. The same couldn’t be said for the child, who was still locked within his slumber. Jola rolled from bed, tucking him snugly into the sheets before pacing toward the door, pressing her palm against a metallic panel.

The door slid open, and once she was out, it snapped shut. The hangar smelled strange, almost as if something was smoking or burning. Curious, Jola wandered toward the cockpit, barefoot and hair still tussled into black heaps from sleep. Rigid in the captain’s chair was the Mandalorian, and judging from his body language, he was angry.

“Is something wrong?” Jola murmured, rubbing at her eyes before the Mandalorian snapped around within his seat, appraising her unclad form with his teeth clenched together. Now wasn’t a good time for her to look like that.

“The ship,” He murmured, motioning to the control panel. “We’re stuck. That woman put a compressor device on the hyperdrive. Until I can figure out how to remove it, we’re here.” Agitation and clear, brimming frustration was laced into his tone. His hand slammed against the wall very suddenly, causing Jola to jump.

“Calm down,” She grumbled, still partially groggy from just having woken up. “We will figure it out. Perhaps I can try removing it.” Before Jola could try approaching the device, Mando began to wave her off with one hand, his attitude one of dismissal. “What?”

“You’ll make it worse.” As soon as it left his mouth, he immediately regretted saying it. It wasn’t her fault, and he was already blowing her off for just trying to help. His gaze lifted to try and get a read on her, and her expression was fueled with rage and sadness. “Wait—“ Before he could try and apologize, she was gone.

Groaning, he stood up from the chair, following after her into the hangar. Her form was trembling, and even when just wearing a tunic and undergarments, her stance was threatening. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” The Mandalorian spoke up, and before he knew it, she whipped around, thrusting her hand out. The Force had knocked him down and back, right onto his backside. Maybe he deserved that. Grunting, he tried standing up, apologetic though now wary to see what she would do next.

“First, you leave me on this ship while you chase down an assassin. Next, you blame the ship’s malfunctions on me.” She hissed through her teeth, cerulean eyes swimming with frustration. “Why must you leave me behind? I could’ve helped. Perhaps we might not be in this situation if I’d come along.”

“Why do you lash out whenever I leave, Jola? I was doing it to protect the both of you. The galaxy is dangerous, and we both have targets on our backs. Better me than you.” The Mandalorian replied, moving across the hangar in order to approach her. If he got slammed again, so be it. 

Her nostrils flared with anger, and even then, she wasn’t beginning to understand what he meant. “What if you had died? What if something happened, and we didn’t know? Do you think these things through when you go out there?” Jola growled, a prominent frown etched into her features.

The Mandalorian was scowling underneath the helmet, but it was mostly borne of frustration because of this situation. Keeping his arms at his sides, he let out a short grunt. “I do think about it.” He paused, shaking his head slightly. “But the kid needs you, Jola. If I’m gone, he needs someone to protect him. Someone who cares about him, someone capable and can hold their own. I don’t trust anyone else to do that except for you.”

“And he needs you, Mando.” She snapped, her fingers curling into her biceps. Even when trying to reason with her, he got absolutely nowhere. Jola was infamously stubborn, but Mando planned on getting through to her. He just didn’t understand what made her so upset. She looked away so suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut for just a moment. “I need you.” 

Finally, he understood what this was about. It wasn’t just about him leaving, but leaving and never coming back. Sighing, he approached her until he was within range of touching her, his hands coming to gently grasp her wrists. “Jola,” He murmured, and she appeared both hurt and saddened. “I care about you.” Saying that to another was such a foreign feeling, but it was entirely true. “I want you safe.” 

Even still, she remained indifferent. “Then why become so hostile about this ship? Why become so angry and defensive when I want to help you?” She asked, pleading with him for answers.

“I don’t know,” He admitted, his head hanging slightly. “I didn’t mean for my frustrations to be pinned on you. It’s this situation, the running.” The Mandalorian still held her wrists, his stance beginning to relax. It was coiled before, bristling with anger not directed towards her. 

“I understand.” Jola’s lips curled into a faint, thin-lipped smile. Whenever she felt his own tension and stress, it made her feel the same way. “Just relax. I can feel your stress — it’s crawling beneath my skin.” She mused, lifting a dark eyebrow before clicking her tongue. “Should we work on that compressor?”

The Mandalorian shook his head, knowing that the last thing he needed at the moment was to go back and smash at that silly device. He needed time to compose himself and then try again. However, Jola was right — he was stressed, and under lots of it. “No. Not yet.”

“We’ll wait and try again later.” She suggested, gently patting her palm against his chestplate. “No use in making you irritated . . . Again.” Jola teased, feeling one of his arms wrap around her. The Mirialan leaned a little closer, silence replacing jests and teases. 

However, the pair did end up relaxing in the cockpit, though the compressor was far from either of their minds. It was blissfully silent — an endless galaxy stretched before them, millions of stars twinkling and glistening. The view was always something spectacular, yet the comfortable silence between them made it all worthwhile. 

Mando sat rigid within the seat, slightly hunched forward. He almost looked as if he were in some sort of pain or distress. The stress and frustration rolled from him in waves, and Jola could feel all corners of these emotions with such vividness. It bothered her to see him this way.

“You aren’t relaxing,” Jola finally spoke up, and she received a grunt intermingled with a groan of defeat. “What’s bothering you?”

“Several things.” He murmured, too ashamed to admit to his problems. The Mandalorian certainly wasn’t the sort to open up about what troubled him — even to his lover, who sat poised within her seat, awaiting an answer. He shook his head, and with a brusque tug, he removed his helmet, placing it up onto the vessel’s control panel.

“If I ask to help, will you let me?” She asked, sitting up slightly. Her verdant, emerald skin was as smooth as ever, virtually unblemished save for the newly-formed scar upon her right thigh from the sabercat’s bite. Her tunic rode up, pooling around her wide hips, hugging closely to her near-perfect physique.

The Mandalorian shamelessly admired his companion’s appearance, especially with how she appealed to him at that very moment. Her eyes were bright, compassionate — her pretty face sported a tender smile. Messy, black tresses tossed around her shoulders and back, strutting around without pants, her larger tunic clinging to her frame, and her delicate fingers that had lightly curled around his forearm. His breath nearly hitched within his throat, and deliberately, he turned toward her. It was his silent way of surrendering control to her.

Slipping silently from the seat, Jola wedged her way in between his legs, stooping over to place her fingers against the steel of his Beskar armor. She noticed the blaster mark on the right side, marred with soot-like, black streaks. Tracing one fingertip across it, she ogled his strained expression with an inquisitive gaze. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?” 

He didn’t answer at first, sluggish to respond to her question. With a soft grunt, he shrugged his shoulders. “Sore, if anything. You tossing me didn’t help.” The Mandalorian murmured, though his last statement was accompanied by a small smirk. Jola appeared apologetic, though didn’t vocalize it just yet. Instead, her hands moved to help him remove his armor, her soft palms gliding across every plane of his upper physique. 

“I’m sorry,” She uttered, her brows furrowing together. “My irrational temper sometimes goes ahead of . . . Everything else.” Jola mused, knowing when she would admit to her faults. The Mirialan was extremely stubborn and sometimes a little arrogant, and she would always be the first to realize her flaws. That was a plus side — she knew what was wrong and would try to fix it.

The faintest of smiles reached his visage, thin-lipped yet genuine. He lifted a hand, removing his Beskar gauntlets and the rough, uneven leather of his gloves. Settling his palm against her thigh, he allowed it to snake just underneath the hem of her tunic, gingerly kneading his hand against her hip. 

Jola worked with a sultry smile, comfortably sinking into his touch. Once every article of his upper armor and garments were removed, she neatly sat them aside on the floor, sliding them away with one foot. His abdomen was bruised, dark marks flourishing wherever he’d been hit from the blast. He mentioned getting shot off of a speeder bike, which might have explained the other bruising on his form. 

“You must hurt,” She sighed, feeling guilty for pushing him across the room a little earlier. Deciding to help, she pressed her hand to his chest, her eyes fluttering shut. This was a similar ability that she and the child had in common. “Stay still. I’m going to try something.” Jola whispered.

Pushing the Force through her, concentration replacing all emotions, she became stoic, a line forming between her brows. It definitely put something of a strain upon her, and as those mystical healing abilities mended his wounds, working away at the deep bruising and bringing those dark marks off of his bronze skin. Jola was completely focused, and it was only a moment later that she’d jerked her hand away, the exertion beginning to hurt her. 

“More than I thought.” Jola breathed, feeling something wet spatter across her upper lip. After dabbing her fingertips against it, blood stained her skin. It wasn’t much, but enough to display what went into those powers. 

“Don’t do that.” Mando murmured, standing up in order to help wipe away the blood. “I’ve endured far worse. Don’t exert yourself over it.” Even though he ached, it would take so much more to really physically harm him. Years upon years of training prepared him greatly for all of this.

Pressing a kiss against the underside of her jaw, the Mandalorian wanted to continue, but an emerald hand stopped him, pushing him back down into the seat with a bit of a firm grip. 

“I’m not finished with helping.” Jola murmured, her gaze half-lidded and somewhat glazed-over with desire. The way she’d said that nearly made him shudder, especially as she sauntered close again, and sank down to her knees. 

“Jola,” He warned, already anticipating her next move. Even then, he was flushed, his skin crawling with warmth. It felt so satisfying, but it almost rendered him breathless. His grasp upon the arms of the chair tightened, the muscles within his forearm flexing and tensing. 

She didn’t say anything, merely slid her fingertips to his waist, hovering over the hem of his trousers. One dark eyebrow was quirked, yet not a word escaped her. Instead, action replaced it with an eager swiftness. Skimming her hands underneath his pants, she felt nothing but warmth. 

He was absolutely on the edge, and she felt his anticipation — it had replaced the stress quite a bit. Deftly and with a certain expertise, Jola removed his cock from its confinements, still absolutely silent save for the soft pants that left her, heavy breathing brought on by excitement. 

Her hand traveled languidly up the length of his manhood, which was already rather hard within her grasp. Giving it a few strokes, he let out a husky groan. It made her wonder if he was like this beforehand — and that thought alone excited her. Did he think about her like this? Did he dream little vulgar fantasies like she did? Licking her lower lip, she felt one of his hands caress through her hair, an odd, sweet gesture.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t about to stop the Mirialan and her need to please, her insatiable appetite beginning to consume her like a hazy cloud. She was eager to see his reactions to this — it would drive her crazy, she already knew that it would.

Jola’s lips soon pressed against the head of his cock, her eyes dragging upwards to get a good look at his expression. He was a little wide-eyed, though certainly vocalized his want of her actions with grunts and soft, breathy moans. Hearing that leave him filled her with a sense of satisfaction. She continued, slipping him into her mouth without much hesitation. 

That hand that had caressed her hair soon tensed up, grabbing a handful of her tresses with a rough grip. It didn’t stop her from falling into a deliberate rhythm, as one of her hands had snapped up to rest against his hips, the other assisted in guiding his cock to and from her lips with such skill. Jola only knew what to do because of a hunch — because she knew what he wanted. 

Her tongue traveled in tandem with her mouth, her actions becoming a little more vigorous, especially as he yanked her forward with that grip he held within her hair. Jola sputtered somewhat, and didn’t stop, even then. Mando’s pleasured growls and subtle, suppressed moans made the situation all the more risqué to her.

They had both forgotten all about the compressor before long. Jola hadn’t stopped or slowed down, continuing to work her hand against his length, and if it was absent, her mouth did the rest of the job, sliding forward and then back. A husky moan tore past his lips, causing her to shiver with delight. Moments passed, and she was every bit as forward as before. She felt that hand in her hair tug a bit, and Jola finally backed off, a string of saliva pooling from her mouth. Hastily wiping it away with the back of one hand, she cleared her throat.

His face was tinted with a scarlet pallor, though his pupils had become dilated, and his eyes grew a little darker. Using the pad of his thumb, he swiped it across her full lower lip, releasing her hair from his grasp. Without hesitation, he stood, hauling her up from being on her knees. Hitching his hands around her thighs, he pushed her up against the ship’s control panel, watching as her hands moved to avoid slamming down on buttons. 

He was between her thighs, feeling her legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing playfully. It didn’t take long before their mouths were connected, ravaging one another as if this was the first time all over again. Hot and heavy without any regard for modesty or keeping quiet, Mando thrust one hand between them, sliding it up her stomach until he reached her breasts, groping her rather roughly. 

“Take off your clothes.” He ordered, his husky command being spilled right into her ear. At the same time, he’d tugged on her tunic. Jola nearly whimpered, feeling heat pool rapidly between her thighs, and without hesitation, she peeled away her tunic, tossing it toward one of the chairs. His dominance was exerted over her, very powerfully all within a few moments. 

Instead of fucking her right from the start, he wanted to return the favor she’d given him. The hand that groped and kneaded at her chest moved to push underneath the soft material of her undergarments, fingers slipping against her cunt. She was wet, which didn’t entirely surprise him at this point. His other hand forced her legs apart just a little bit, enough to give him the needed space. 

She sat up slightly, back arched into his embrace. Even if his hand was working wonders against her clit, that didn’t stop his mouth from pressing kisses against her neck. Teeth nicked skin, and he would suck hickeys into her flesh, vibrant marks that certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed. His hot breath fanned out across both her face and underneath her jawline, his breathing ragged from lust.

His fingers fervently worked themselves against her, with one thumb circling and rubbing at her clit. The other had penetrated her with a certain roughness to it, a familiar desperation that she shared with him, the two forces tangling together. Continuing to finger-fuck her, Jola rode his hand, whines and long, passionate moans escaping her in droves. Every noise sent him reeling, sparking a fire in him that needed to be sated.

Everything about the Mirialan was so perfect to him. It wasn’t just revolving around this intimate physical relationship they shared, but an emotional one. He trusted her — and that, in itself, was incredibly rare. The way she sighed his playful nickname into his ear, her hands clutching onto his torso, eyes rolling into the back of her head . . . He needed her.

Removing his hand, the Mandalorian began to kiss along her body, not stopping until he reached her hips. He sank to his knees, draping Jola’s legs across each broad, muscled shoulder. His fingers clamped down into those plush thighs of hers, kneading into her as he tore off her undergarments with an alarming speed. 

This made Jola excited — more than usual, too. She’d never had someone do this before, which prompted her curiosity. “What are you — Oh,” That last part of her comment trailed off into a high-pitched moan as his mouth met her cunt, tongue trailing along her clit with expertise. The way she reacted and squirmed underneath him was enough to really continue with force. 

Jola accidentally leaned back, her hand slamming a series of buttons on the control panel. The ship jolted before steadying-out, and Mando dragged her closer, right onto his face. “Hold still.” He ordered, and her hands instead moved to grip the ledge, but not before one of them tangled into his dark hair.

The Mirialan was trying her hardest to remain still, but even then, she writhed and squirmed underneath his touch, her head hanging forward slightly. Jola’s teeth gnashed together, flustered as ever as his mouth continued to ravish her. This was the first time this sensation had been delivered to her, and instinctively, her thighs squeezed lightly on either side of his neck. 

Had he always been so talented at this? Her mind wandered shortly before his tongue thrust itself deeper against her cunt, causing her to cry out with pleasure. Her physique was trembling, and the hand that gripped the ledge of the control panel was holding on for dear life. 

Just before she could reach the height of her climax, he pulled himself away, tongue freeing itself. She was left a quivering mess, brows furrowing together. Wiping off his mouth and surrounding stubble with the back of his hand, he stood up in between her legs, placing his hands against either side of her hips. Nothing but heavy breaths passed between him, and before long, he had tugged her close.

Thrusting himself inside of her with a heavy grunt, he made sure to support her enough to keep from falling onto the control panel. His grasp was hard and firm, like that of metal. The Mandalorian kissed her, hard and endearing before his lips slipped to the underside of her jaw, feeling the pulsation of her heartbeat within her neck.

He was almost a little too deliberate for her liking, causing her to let out a higher-pitched whine. “Faster,” Jola moaned into his ear, grappling at his shoulders. She felt a shudder course down the length of his spine, and he didn’t obey her just yet. “Please.” She breathed, feeling his hips roll against hers, the friction rendering her speechless.

The Mandalorian twisted their position slightly, pushing her up against the corner where the wall met the control panel of his vessel. The surface was cold and icy against her back, yet it allowed him to pound himself deeper into her, his hot breath ragged and raspy against her neck. Jola pulled him up, connecting her mouth to his with a surge of sexual fervor, nipping at his lower lip. 

Jola felt one of his hands slip around her neck, the pressure situated just underneath her jaw, fingers splayed across her throat. He squeezed, his grasp snug against her neck, enough to make her feel his presence. It was a sensation unlike any other to her, his hold tightening slightly at the sound of her breathy moan. His lips had curled into a smirk against her cheek — he knew what drove her wild.

She held onto him, one hand poised against his shoulder whilst the other slipped to hold his forearm. The taut, sinewy muscles flexed beneath her fingertips, tensing whenever she adjusted her hold or clamped down. Chewing upon her lower lip, the Mirialan felt his pace increase slightly, cock burying itself deep inside of her. With a rough, sharp thrust, Jola moaned, her head tilting back against the wall.

The Mandalorian groaned, biting back another noise of desire before pulling his face back, enough to kiss her yet again, fueled by passion and the onset of lust. Jola squirmed underneath his touch, brows furrowing together as she returned the kiss, her teeth skimming across his lower lip. It was a relentless tangling of mouths, hot and heavy as they pushed against one another, heat surrounding the pair like a thick cloud.

Perspiration was beginning to build up upon their skin, a thin layer, but enough to prove their exertion of energy. She was getting closer to an orgasm, having been satisfied completely with how he’d cut her off last time. “Mando.” Jola moaned, her sweet voice nearly intoxicating to him. With another brutish thrust, a suppressed, smothered moan tore past his mouth, form shuddering as his teeth began to grind together.

Both were led into satisfactory climaxes, and Jola let out a soft sigh, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Noises of pleasure echoed and bounced across the cockpit walls — loud enough to draw attention if there were others on-board who weren’t sleeping. He came inside of her — neither of them really ever thought of the consequences of this, nor considered anything. It wouldn’t happen to them. 

Keeping himself inside of her for a moment longer, he finally pulled out, pressing a kiss against her temples before receding enough to let her slide off of the ledge. Adjusting his trousers, he’d put his belt back on, though decided to make do without anything above the waist. Jola stooped over, grabbing ahold of his cape before draping it around her for modesty’s sake. The Mandalorian couldn’t help himself, arms twining around her hips to tug her back against him. “Not yet,” He murmured, wanting to stay with her that way in the cockpit for a little longer.

Jola smiled at that, her head tucked underneath his chin. He sank down into the pilot’s seat with his Mirialan close in-tow, letting her perch comfortably within his lap. Quietly, he traced gentle circles against her scarred thigh, letting her rest her head against his bare shoulder. It was sweet — for a fearsome warrior, his nature after sex was usually that of a caring manner. 

Seeing her all tangled up within his cape was attractive for a reason he couldn’t entirely pinpoint — maybe it was because he was seeing her in something that belonged to him. She belonged to him. The woven material was wound around her form, sweeping just above her knees. He felt her lips glide against his neck, pressing tender kisses just underneath his stubbled jaw. It was a softer gesture — something he secretly appreciated, whether he’d make it known or not.

The rough, calloused hand that had lovingly caressed her thigh had started to wander up again, evoking a smirk from Jola as she turned her face towards his. “Are you asking for round two?” She uttered, lifting a dark eyebrow. 

“I’m not asking,” The Mandalorian murmured, returning that insatiable smirk of hers with one of his own. Jola’s nose wrinkled with amusement, and she’d playfully nip at his lower lip. Before he could bring her in for a heated kiss, the door of the cockpit slid open with a hiss, startling the pair as he slowly turned them around with the seat. 

The child stood there, ogling the two of them with those big, pretty eyes. This was a strange sight indeed — it was one of the first times the little one had seen the Mandalorian without his helmet, and instead of reacting with fear, he began to babble and coo with excitement.

Jola blinked, watching as the child waddled toward the chair, and stopped at the bottom where the Mandalorian’s boot had been an obstacle placed within his path. Lifting a little green hand, he churred with contentment, clearly wanting to be picked up. 

Of course, neither of them could resist that adorable charm the child had. The Mirialan plucked him off of the floor, scooping him up with one arm. “You have impeccable timing,” Jola mused, unable to suppress a grin before the child gazed at Mando — it was somewhat of a surprise to him. “Isn’t he handsome?” She snickered.

That evoked a grumble from the Mandalorian, who nearly rolled his eyes. “Are you sure he isn’t yours?” He jested toward Jola, noting the pair’s similar green complexion and array of Force abilities. 

“Very funny.” Jola chuckled, letting the child sit within her lap. The trio sat soundly within the cockpit, though Mando had almost forgotten about the compressor. The Mirialan seemed to note it too, beating him to it before he could. “Are you ready for that compressor now?”

————


End file.
